


Run Fast, Run Far REDUX

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: LooNEY_DAC's SSSS Could-Be-Canon Thingies [6]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: And a cast of thousands, I can't believe that isn't a tag already, but did it happen?, if it happened, it took place in the "going to odense" montage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC
Summary: The REDUX (that no one asked for) of Run Fast, Run Far.
Series: LooNEY_DAC's SSSS Could-Be-Canon Thingies [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/598321
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Run Fast, Run Far REDUX

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Run Fast, Run Far](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785654) by [LooNEY_DAC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC). 



The old woman looked the room over one last time, reassuring herself that everything was as it should be. Dust motes—just enough but not too many, the old woman noted with pride—glimmered and sparkled in the golden shafts of light that the setting sun sent shining across the table; soon, the only light in the room would be from the softly glowing candles the old woman had set out and lit with such care. The table was laid as it had not been for years; the chairs were all spruced up; and, in short, everything was in as good order as human effort could make it.

A bump against her ankles startled the old woman, but she smiled when she looked down and saw that it was simply her cat seeking attention. Bending down to lift the neglected feline in her arms, she said, “Now, now. We’ve got company coming soon, and you’ll have all the attention you could want.” The cat, a fluffy, multi-colored specimen of laziness embodied, looked back at the old woman as if to say how very much it doubted that, since it knew who was coming.

The light dimmed, and rather earlier than she had expected. When the old woman looked at the windows to see why, all she could see was rain punctuated by the occasional flash of lightning, always far enough away that no thunder followed. The old woman frowned, hoping her coming company would remember to leave their sodden outerwear in the mud porch where it should be, as she’d laid out her best rugs and other linens for tonight. Well, at least the weather had held off this long. Her joints had been letting her know that the storm was on its way all day in ways that hindered her preparations most annoyingly.

The old woman could still just remember that nights like this one had once filled her with foreboding, back when she was just a little girl, but she was long past such childish fears. A storm without no longer stirred a storm within; but she did rather wish her company would arrive, already, as candles were getting quite dear nowadays. Others might consider such concerns petty, but they held other, darker worries at bay, so the old woman indulged them, much as she indulged her cat. Of course, there had been a time when entertaining callers had once filled the old woman with outright terror, so she supposed that indulging a little foreboding was still an improvement on that.

The knock still made the old woman start, even though she had been expecting it for quite some time (and much to the annoyance of her cat).

“Welcome, wanderers of the wide world,” she greeted them. “Have you brought any new tales to tell me?”

One of her guests smiled and replied, “Have we ever not?” The old woman smiled in return…

*

Sigrun Eide had not survived into her 30s by being an idiot, in spite of the common view that she knew the Icelanders (and Swedes, and Danes, and probably Uncle Trond…) held of their Norwegian cousins. She had also not survived by being indecisive or even hesitant, since those would get you killed faster than being an idiot would.

Even Sigrun stopped and stared in awe when the door finally surrendered to the combined assault of Mikkel’s crowbar and Emil’s smallest charges and the three of them rushed into the building. Directly in front of them was a beautiful glowing thing that defied any attempt she might have made to further describe it.

Emil Västerström was utterly confounded that there was so much light while it yet remained so cold; even so, he was grateful for the cold, as it meant that there would be no grosslings in the area to try to catch them unawares, so he could continue to devote all his attention to the vision before them. It was the most beautiful and compelling thing Emil had ever seen; he didn’t even want to try to blow it up or set fire to it.

Not even Mikkel Madsen had any idea of what the thing they were all staring at could actually be, but it was entirely and utterly fascinating even through the distortion of his faulty spatial perception.

Emil became aware (though distantly, as though through a haze of indifference) that Tuuri, Reynir and Lalli had all entered the building and were also looking at the thing. Emil knew that he ought to be worried for the two non-immunes, but he found that he couldn’t. Something told him that the thing that had caught their attention would make sure nothing bad happened to them while they were in its presence.

As soon as all six of them were in the room, the door swung shut behind them; more importantly, though, the thing in front of them changed. Each of them saw an image—or, more properly, a whole kaleidoscope’s worth of images mixed up as one main picture—form on the thing. This main picture swerved and twisted as though its source (whatever it might be) was falling off of a cliff or something; this only added to the sudden surge of vertigo each of them experienced as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

It was... Well, the closest thing any of them could think of to compare it to is looking at a truly baffling number of moving, transparent pictures in vivid colors piled on top of each other: sometimes, one or another of the six of them could see something happening with incredible clarity through the confusing murk (Emil swore he saw himself and Lalli as children sharing cake in Emil’s old home, while Tuuri saw her trip through Mora ending in a broken leg; none of the others wanted to reveal what they saw), but almost immediately thereafter the mix shifted to conceal what they’d thought they’d seen while half-revealing something else.

Throughout this whole phase, the odd feeling of being protected lingered on all six of them; the Finns, the Icelander and the Norwegian all knew it as the work of the gods, though which gods were working it remained to be seen. Even when the winds rose out of nowhere with loud howls to buffet the six of them, the feeling of safety remained.

As the winds wrapped around her, Sigrun heard Lalli say one word: “Aarnivalkea.” Then she was being lifted away, and all her thoughts scattered in the wind…

*

The old woman frowned when the flow of words came to an end. “That wasn’t a proper story,” she complained. “It was barely a decent beginning.”

One of her visitors nodded. “True enough, but the tale we have brought will be very long in the telling. Are you sure you wish to sit through the whole of it?”

The old woman snorted derisively. “And when have I ever begged off either the hearing or the telling of a tale as being ‘too long’?”

The other visitor smiled. “There’s always a first time, but we can tell that this will not be that time.”

The first visitor nodded again. “So be it.” A shudder seemed to pass through the room at the words.

The old woman leaned forward in her eagerness to catch each and every syllable of the tale to come…

**Author's Note:**

> So I was trying to start my Secret Santa gift for [REDACTED] (and feeling rather annoyed because the cold I was in the middle of had already delayed me by several days), and this came out instead.
> 
> …Obviously, I blame [Gwenno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwenno) for writing an exchange letter so fraught with mood. /mikkel


End file.
